


Observing

by yeaka



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily convinces two constables to play for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observing

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Obviously this makes no sense in historical context. I just love everyone in this show so much I can’t even...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Murdoch Mysteries or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Right before it seems like he’s _finally_ going to start, George turns back to her and asks, cheeks flushed and hesitation thick in his voice, “Emily, are you _quite_ sure—”

“I’m positive, George,” Emily answers immediately and with complete confidence. Honestly, she’s trying to have patience, but her morgue has an open door policy, and they can’t take forever. She understands this is difficult for them, but they already agreed to it. Funnily enough, though Henry takes the excuse not to start, he doesn’t seem quite as terrified as George does. With a sigh, Emily tells the two constables, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but it would make me _very_ happy.” George looks immediately torn; she’s well aware he would do just about _anything_ to make her happy.

Henry asks, “But it wouldn’t make us...”

“No,” Emily insists without him having to finish. “It wouldn’t. In fact, this sort of thing is quite common in Europe.” A lie, of course, but neither of them will know it.

“With two men?” George asks, full of naïve disbelief.

“Because I’m not—” Henry starts, but Emily just rolls her eyes.

“It does not make you a homosexual, Constable. How could it when there’s a woman involved? I’m right here.”

“But you’re not really going to be involved,” he points out.

“Do you want me to kiss you afterwards?” It’s hard to say which of the two men blushes darker; honestly, they’re more of the ‘lovesick schoolgirl’ type than Emily’s ever been. They don’t need to explicitly answer; that bribe is the only reason she’s managed to get them this far. “Well, then; you’ll be getting kissed by a woman, so that’s hardly homosexual now, is it?” 

Henry shrugs, and George looks as though he’s considering that fact intently. Emily has to stifle her fond look—he’s too easy to send off on theorized trails, and he’s far too cute while doing it. Mainly for something to do while the two men conquer their nerves, Emily reaches to pull the hats from under their arms, leaving nothing to cling to. Then she smiles brightly and nods them towards each other, waiting. 

Henry is the one to suck in a breath first; he’s the bolder one. He takes a shuffling step closer to George, and George leans back for a fraction of a second before remaining still. Another step, and they’re close enough for their toes to touch. George’s arms are stiff at his sides, clenching as though not sure what to do with themselves, and Henry leans in, head tilted, waiting. Another second passes, and George clues in that he’s meant to respond. He leans back.

They peck each other on the lips for one too-short instant, then snap abruptly black with flushed faces and eyes staring oddly at one another. Emily rolls her eyes—honestly, _men._

“It has to be longer than that,” she insists. They both look back at her, Henry’s mouth open and George spluttering. “Yes, longer, George Crabtree.” He shuts his mouth again. “I mean kiss _properly_. You know, with tongue, for at least a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” Henry repeats, as though she’s lost her mind. For a moment, she can clearly see him appraising her, wondering if she’s worth it, but she stands tall, proud, and knows that she is. She’s already promised them that if they do more, it’ll lead to more, and if he wants to have a chance with a real modern woman, he’s going to have to play her game. George is scratching the back of his head, clearly thinking. Henry suddenly grumbles, “For that, we should get to see you and Dr. Ogden kiss.”

George snaps for her, “Higgins! Show some respect!” Emily bites the inside of her lip, not willing to let them know that she does find Julia strikingly attractive. What happens in the morgue stays in the morgue.

Smartly, she says instead, “I thought you wanted me, Henry.” And Henry doesn’t answer; of course he does. 

After a minute of general pausing and shuffling, George finally sighs, “Oh, alright.” He steps up to Henry this time and leans in, then stops, seems to reconsider, and tries another swoop, pressing right into Henry. Emily’s breath catches as their lips collide. At first, Henry’s taken off guard, but then he lets it happen. His eyes slowly close, George’s already shut tight. Henry presses back, one hand reaching to clutch at George’s elbow, holding steady. There’s something about their constable’s uniforms that look particularly good together—but then, of course she’s always liked a man in uniform. A moment passes of both of them stiff as a board, and finally Henry relaxes, opening his mouth and visibly running his tongue across the seam of George’s lips. 

As silently as possible, Emily sweeps closer. Her nails are digging into her palms, almost giddy with excitement at finally making this happen, and she notes the way a shiver clearly runs down George’s spine. He opens his mouth like the good boy he is, letting Henry slip inside. Emily half wishes she had a bright light on them just to see all the little, subtle movements of their tongues between each other’s mouths, but her imagination does its best to fill the holes. George’s tongue eventually presses back, and then they’re opening up properly, heads tilting and mouths closing and reopening. They’re probably noticing, as Emily’s aware herself, that kissing a man isn’t all that different from kissing a woman. Their eyes are both closed; they could be picturing other people, but Emily doubts they are. Henry’s other arm wraps around George. 

Then something switches on, and Henry’s hand is sliding up to fist in George’s dark hair, holding George in place as the kiss gains momentum. His body leans into George’s, and George gasps into Henry’s mouth, pressing back with equal force. His hands slip to Henry’s waist, fingers spread and smoothing over the black fabric, wrapping around for a proper feel. Emily does her best to stifle her smirk; she _knew_ they’d be into it, if they just gave it a chance. They have the perfect chemistry. They’ve probably thought about it once or twice, just never considered it even a vague possibility, and now she’s given them full license to try and not feel guilty. She has half a mind to pull up a chair and contentedly sit here all day, watching her favourite boys make out like horny teenagers. 

They stop once, just pulling back a scant centimeter, Henry’s eyes opening a hair and George’s following suit, staring back into Henry’s. Something passes between them that Emily isn’t privy to, and Henry closes the distance again, biting at George’s bottom lip and earning a low moan out of George’s throat. It goes straight to Emily’s crotch, and she crosses her arms to resist the urge to do anything else with them. The way they’re going, they may have forgotten Emily’s even there. She has no desire to correct them. One of Henry’s hands slides around to George’s front, pressing between them and cupping George’s crotch through his pants, something thrilling and forbidden that Emily didn’t even suggest, and she bites her lip as—

The door opens suddenly, the one in the distance and up the platform. There’s that split second for George and Henry to jerk apart before Detective Murdoch strolls in, looking just as innocent and dapper as usual. Henry and George, both bright read and agape, hurriedly fall in with, “Sir, we were just—”

But Emily talks over them, snatching the appropriate folder from her side table and headed straight for the detective. She hands him the folder and announces, “Mr. Romero died of blunt force trauma to the back of the head. I drew the outline of the likely weapon in my report.” He takes the folder with the usual polite smile. 

Then he’s turned to his constables. “George, I need you to look into Mr. Romero’s activities two weeks ago.” 

Rather than asking why the precise date, George squeaks a quick, “Yes, Sir!” And he looks at Emily for help, but Detective Murdoch’s already headed back for the door. Emily watches his retreating form with a latent sort of interest. If Julia were at all amenable to it, she’d _love_ to see him commanding his two closest underlings. Maybe George and Henry at his feet, down to just their underthings, in a locked cage while the detective gave them instructions and a sordid list of naughty actions in order to be released...

When the door clicks shut behind him, Henry and George both slump with relief. Barely able to contain her grin, Emily strolls up to peck George on the cheek—he’ll get the brunt of his reward later—and then she grabs Henry, kissing him fiercely but pulling back as soon as his tongue comes out to play. Then she gestures to the door and informs them, “We’ll continue this later when you don’t have a case to solve.” They both look disappointed—poor Henry wasn’t even ordered to help in the investigation, but she needs both of them here for her fun to work, and she’s got _real_ work to do. 

She shoos them out of her morgue despite their weak protests, and before she closes the door on them, she spends one last, lingering moment imagining the two of them ripping each other’s clothes off. At least now she knows they’re more amenable than they claim. 

She shuts the door and strolls back to the open cadaver waiting for her, humming and looking forward to next time.


End file.
